


The Last Army

by Charles_Basilone



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Mentions of War Crimes, PTSD, War, mentions of atrocities, mentions rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charles_Basilone/pseuds/Charles_Basilone
Summary: Based on a Tumblr prompt I saw floating around on instagram:"Muggleborns wonder why there is a large, friendly group of teenage ghosts around Hogwarts. They're led by a funny boy who likes to joke around with Peeves, and he always says they're Dumbledore's Last Army."Just a muggleborn kid and their interactions with The Last Army. Credit to mugglebornheadcannon on Tumblr for the idea.
Relationships: None
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	The Last Army

The first years got into the entry hall and Mary gasped. It was huge-- much larger than her house outside of Belfast. A fit middle-aged man wearing a sweater vest greeted them, holding a small plant in one hand.

“Good evening, first years! My name is Professor Longbottom--” here many of the students interrupted him by gasping, which he ignored-- “Deputy Headmaster and Head of Gryffindor house. You will be sorted shortly. I promise the process is not painful nor strenuous, and never in the history of Hogwarts has someone not been sorted. I hope that allays any fears you may have, because I now have to go check on the arrangements.”

He came back and brought them into the Great Hall. It was overwhelming; it was absolutely massive, chock full of people, and that’s where she first saw them. There were lots of ghosts, but the young ones gave her the chills. There was a bunch of them, the youngest fourteen or so, and the oldest in their early twenties. Weapons and spells had pockmarked their bodies with scars and bruises, some fresher than others, all relics from their past lives.

* * *

It was nearly Christmas, and Mary was looking forward to seeing her family. She was walking back from Charms when she saw them again. The redheaded ringleader was talking to Peeves, with a few of the others vaguely milling about. There was no sign of the broad, blonde Scottish one, so Mary decided he must be with Professor Longbottom, with whom he seemed to be best friends.

“My fellow child of  Éire, how are you today?” Said the redhead as the others drifted away.

“And what’s it to you, ghoul?” She retorted, her catholic prejudice against the supernatural rearing its ugly head.

“Ah, what’s your problem with me?”

“You’re unnatural.”

“So are you. I’m no more unnatural than you are-- or have you forgotten you can do magic?”

“Why are you like this?” Mary blurted, unable to contain it any longer.

“Insolent, or a ghost?” Came his reply, hardly seeming offended by her rude question.

“A ghost-- if that’s not, like, rude, you know?”

“I wouldn’t go around asking people that, but I’m hardly one to lecture you to be polite, am I? When was the last time you saw me do a kind deed?” Here he paused to gather his thoughts, and Mary jumped in.

“I actually have a question about that, too. I saw you stop Peeves from--”

There was a loud raspberry followed by Peeves saying, “Yeah, whatever. I answer to no one!” And flying off.

“--Picking on those first years, yeah. I remember what it was like to be a young firstie, lost in this big world. It was a policy, for my twin and I. No pranks on first years, unless we pranked everyone at once. Peeves, he says he answers to no one, but usually he liked us. Sometimes, you know, when I miss George-- I try not to visit too often, he has to have his own life, you know-- I get him to help me pull pranks. Or to not harass the firsties. But to answer your first question, I couldn’t leave George. Not yet. The war was hard on my family. We spent almost all of the Second War on the front lines. Mum and Dad spent the majority of the First War-- once it was out in the open, and not just disappearances, anyways-- on the front lines, too. So yeah, I chose to stay this way for a while. Until George is ready.”

“Wait, you fought in the war? You’re Fred Weasley? Your brother is Ron Weasley? No shit?” Mary said, flabbergasted.

“Yeah, I fought. All of the others, too. We were Dumbledore’s Last Army. I died in this building. Right over there, actually,” He said, pointing down the hall.

“So you died here, too?”

“We all did. Never thought I’d die in my own mausoleum,” Fred said, a hint of bitterness behind his joke.

“Does any one?” Mary replied.

“I think that was Dumbledore’s original plan. He always had a sense for the dramatic.”

“Did he name you his last army?”

“Nah, we named ourselves Dumbledore’s Army. At the time, there was a woman here, named Umbridge. She used to be Senior Undersecretary in the Ministry. She was the High Inquisitor, replaced Dumbledore as Headmaster. She was Fudge’s puppet. Fudge was scared of Dumbledore, so he and The Prophet spent about a year slandering Dumbledore and Harry. We figured, the thing that scared them the most would be Dumbledore with an army, so we named ourselves Dumbledore’s Army,” As he said this, his ghostly hand started to tremble a bit, and his voice wavered.

Mary, however, seemed not to notice, and continued in a low voice, “So what was it like? The war?”

“It was the best experience of my life. I was on the run, most of it. Me, Lee and George. We were working with Kingsley and Remus to get the news out. The truth was being censored by the Ministry after the fall, so we were it. The Voice of Truth. Radio Liberty. The last outpost of reality. Ironic, no? George and I, we spent all of Hogwarts making illusions, subtle deciets, you know? But we did it. We investigated every horror, every atrocity, every terrible thing. We were there. We fought Death Eaters almost daily. The adrenaline rush was-- nothing can compare to it. It was the most intense thing I’ve ever experienced. But we almost died every day. I saw the deaths of hundreds of people, some clean, some brutally murdered for the mere crime of being alive. Kids beaten, women raped, men mutilated. War, up close and personal. And the worst part was, I participated. Not in the atrocities, but I killed. I fought. I gambled and drank. Both literally and metaphorically. And the other hell of it is, I liked it. In a sick, terrible way, I miss the war. I miss the rush.”

**Author's Note:**

> Unsatisfying end, but this needed to get out, since I've been working on this for a while. I may continue this later if the inspiration strikes, or maybe do a series on conversations people have with veterans of the Second Wizarding War. I know, I should be updating The Silent Service, but I've been stuck on that for a while and this wouldn't leave me alone. Please read and review.  
> Very respectfully,  
> Charles Basilone


End file.
